


here is the deepest secret nobody knows

by lutes_and_dandelions



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Tenderness, armour kink, oaths of fealty, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27245563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lutes_and_dandelions/pseuds/lutes_and_dandelions
Summary: Geralt dons Nilfgaardian armour for a Commendation Ceremony. Emhyr’s reaction is far more fervent then Geralt ever could have imagined, not that he’s complaining.
Relationships: Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 18
Kudos: 144





	here is the deepest secret nobody knows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Oversharing_Skeptic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Oversharing_Skeptic/gifts).



> Happy Birthday my lovely one! I hope this waters your crops and makes you smile. I love you more then I love Emhyr ;) <3

Geralt stood in front of the mirror, allowing his chamberlain, Elis, to lace tie his shirt cuffs. In the reflection he could see Emhyr, looking resoundly smug. He supposed the man had many reasons to be so. His daughter had returned, he’d successfully brought peace to the Northern Realms and returned to Nilfgaard to glorious acclaim, his naysayers finally silenced. And apparently, getting Geralt to accept a personal chamberlain was his greatest accomplishment of the year. Life in the palace was certainly easier with a chamberlain, but Geralt wasn’t going to admit that out loud.

“It doesn’t suit you,” he grumbled. 

“Yes, it does,” Emhyr replied, humour dancing in his eyes. He was already dressed in his ceremonial robes. The white cotton was artfully draped over him, tied around his waist with a gold sash, a gold circlet adorned his head, the picture of regality. 

Geralt wanted to say he didn’t know how he ended up in the Emperor of Nilfgaard’s dressing room. A room that was off of his bedroom, a bedroom that had immediately become their bedroom upon reaching the city. But upon accompanying Ciri to Vizima, Radovid dead, the White Frost defeated, Emhyr hadn’t exactly been subtle in his flirtation and Geralt was old and Emhyr was handsome. He’d allowed himself to be wooed, enjoying every moment of it since he didn’t know how long it would last. When Emhyr left for Nilfgaard, Geralt had expected their romance to end. What he hadn’t expected was for Emhyr to ask him, late one night, wrapped up in each other’s arms after a good fucking, if he’d return with Emhyr to the capital. By that point, and against his better judgement, Geralt had been head over heels in love with the man, so of course he had said yes. 

“How’s your Nilfgaardian?” Emhyr asked. 

“Acceptable,” Geralt answered. In truth it was perfect.

“Leave us, Elis.”

The chamberlain did as ordered, melting silently from the room. Alone, Emhyr took his place, fingers light as they began lacing the front of Geralt’s shirt. 

“Thank you for doing this,” Emhyr murmured. “I know you loathe spectacle of all kinds.” 

“If it keeps the nobles off your back, it’s the least I can do,” Geralt replied. Letting his hands rest on Emhyr’s hips, Geralt pulled him forward, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss. 

“Still,” Emhyr whispered, resting his forehead to Geralt’s, “I appreciate it all the same.”

“You appreciate getting to see me on my knees,” he smirked. 

“Of course I do, I have eyes and good taste.” 

With one last kiss, Emhyr slipped from Geralt’s grasp and over to the table upon which was laid the [ceremonial armour](https://lutes-and-dandelions.tumblr.com/post/633225567755485184/geralt-looking-fine-in-nilfgaardian-armour-so) he would have to don for the afternoon. The Great Sun was emblazoned on the brown leather gambeson, carved with meticulous care and accuracy. In the mirror Geralt watched as Emhyr reached out and traced the sun with one finger. 

“You enjoy the idea of me wearing the Sun, don’t you?” Geralt hummed, head tilting to the side. 

“Enjoy is too tame a term,” Emhyr replied, meeting Geralt’s gaze in the reflection, one eyebrow raised. “I shall _greatly appreciate_ seeing you in such garb, and then I will _relish_ divesting you of it later.”

“I hope that’s a promise.”

“Short of a successful assassination attempt on my life, nothing will keep me from such a delectable experience.” 

“You’re gonna make me blush,” Geralt laughed, genuinely feeling close to it.

“You do blush so beautifully,” Emhyr smirked. That did tip Geralt over the edge, his cheeks heating, staining pink. “Absolutely delightful,” he sighed, gravitating back over to Geralt, lips soft when they pressed against the coloured skin, a hand resting on Geralt’s waist. 

Geralt heard Mererid before he appeared in the doorway. He didn’t bother to warn Emhyr, the chamberlain had caught them in far more provocative positions. 

“Your excellency,” the man said, standing in the open doorway, “I’m terribly sorry to intrude but the parade guard is ready for inspection.” 

“Duty calls,” Geralt smirked.

Emhyr huffed out a breath through his nose, lips thinning before he shook his head. With one final kiss, he followed Mererid from the room.

-oOo-

Geralt was not to ride to the Temple of the Sun with Emhyr, he was at the back of the parade, in a gilded carriage with Ciri whereas Geralt was somewhere near the middle. They’d had the foresight to place him next to Morvran at least. He hadn’t been allowed to ride Roach, as she was not trained for such pageantry. Instead he rode a huge black charger who was happy to trot alongside Morvran’s dun. Around them the inhabitants of the city and the local peasantry cheered and clapped, waiting to catch a fleeting glimpse of their Emperor and his heir. Geralt wanted them to shut up, the din hurting his ears.

The Temple of the Sun covered over a hectare of land and was home to many. Geralt was glad to pass through the Golden Gate, the noise immediately lessening. The parade continued on, through the grounds towards the towering Sun Sanctum, it’s white marble columns and roof gleaming in the afternoon sun. A retinue of paiges and squires were working tirelessly, taking horses from government officials, military men, knights and nobles alike, walking them off to a side courtyard and making sure the parade never so much as slowed down or halted as people dismounted and made their way into the Sanctum. 

Inside there was a small army of ushers escorting people to their assigned seats. It wasn’t the first time he’d been inside of the Sanctum, and it never failed to take his breath away. Marble columns supporting the painted ceiling, beautiful depictions of the Great Sun’s story of creation. The east and west walls were fitted with windows that were embellished with stained glass golden suns. Usually the Sanctum’s floor laid bare but for this ceremony rows of chairs had been set out for all those who came to swear themselves to Emhyr. At the very head of the Sanctum, a golden throne sat waiting for it’s only occupier.

Geralt was once again, thankfully, next to Morvran, although this time he was near the front. He made polite conversation while he waited, running the words of his oath over and over in his head the entire time. It felt like an age before trumpets heralded Emhyr and Ciri’s arrival.

They glided up the central aisle, Emhyr leaving Ciri to sit on the throne while she sat in the middle of the first row. As soon as they were both settled, the High Priestess materialised and began the ceremony. 

It passed in somewhat of a boring blur, Geralt spent most of the time fighting drowners in his head. After at least an hour, his name was called. Geralt marched up the aisle and kneeled at Emhyr’s feet, looking up at his lover through his eyelashes. The armour was clearly _doing things_ to Emhyr, his pupils had dilated and he was breathing through his nose slightly heavier then he should have been considering he’d barely moved since sitting down. 

“I, Sir Geralt of Rivia, by the Sun before whom this sanctum is sacred, say to Emhyr var Emreis, the White Flame, Emperor of Nilfgaard, Supreme Leader of the North and the South, that I will serve him, faithfully and true.” Geralt recited, his Nilfgaardian flawless, the scent of Emhyr’s arousal tickling his nose. He hadn’t put much thought into how he’d feel upon swearing himself to Emhyr, but it wasn’t as awful as he thought it would be. If he’d had any say he would have just done it in their bedroom, with no audience, probably after their morning love making but before Mererid and Elis turned up with breakfast. Instead, he was doing it in the Sanctum, in front of the city’s elite, yet it still felt like they were the only two in the room. “I will love all that he loves and shun all that he shuns, according to the laws of the Sun and the order of the world. Nor will I ever with will or action, through word or deed, do anything which is unpleasing to him, on condition that he will hold to me as I shall deserve it, and that he will perform everything as it was in our agreement when I submitted myself to him and chose his will.”

As soon as he finished, Emhyr held out his right hand. Geralt was delighted to see that it was shaking ever so slightly. Geralt kissed the rings that adorned Emhyr’s fingers, briefly breaking from ceremony to kiss his knuckles. Standing, Geralt leaned forward and placed the kiss of supplication to Emhyr’s right cheek. 

“I have no words,” Emhyr breathed into his ear, the scent of his precum joining the arousal in the air. 

Geralt didn’t have time to respond, only able to wink before bowing deeply and back stepping away. 

He wanted to spend the rest of the ceremony thinking about exactly what Emhyr may want to do with him upon returning to their private apartments later in the evening but he was quite sure his trousers would leave nothing to the imagination. Instead, he recited bestiary passages in his head until at last, the evening sun now shining through the Sanctum windows, Ciri stood and kneeled in front of Emhyr. 

In flawless high Nilfgaardian, she intoned, “I, Cirilla, Heir Apparent to the Empire of Nilfgaard, do become your liege man of life and limb and of earthly worship, and faith and truth I will bear unto thee, to live and die against all manner of folks.” Ciri kissed Emhyr’s cheek and then stepped back. Emhyr stood and offered her his arm, together they glided back down the central aisle. Their carriage would be waiting for them and this time they would lead the parade through the streets rather than bring up the rear. 

As soon as they were through the doors, the ushers reappeared, grabbing people in the order they needed for the parade and hurrying them out the door. Not that anyone needed much persuasion, no one was going to be the issue that held up a parade that included the Emperor. Within minutes Geralt was outside, the charger being held ready for him by one of the squires. A few minutes later and he was once again trotting through the streets of Nilfgaard City.

-oOo-

It was a punishable crime to leave an engagement before the Emperor. After the banquet had been consumed and everyone had moved to the ballroom, Emhyr took to the floor with Ciri to open the dancing, spent a little bit of time chatting with his favourite courtiers before retiring for the evening. Barely an hour had passed.

Geralt was hot on his heels when Ciri cut in front of him, smiling bright and happy. “Dance with me!” She exclaimed, grabbing his hands. Geralt feigned a put upon sigh and went gladly.

-oOo-

Another half hour had passed by the time Geralt reached their private apartment. It’s darker than usual, lit only by candles placed sporadically around the rooms. When he entered their bedroom, a warm summer night breeze greeted him, blowing gently through the room, carrying the sounds of the party below, smelling of the palace gardens and Emhyr’s heady arousal. Silhouetted by moon and starlight, Emhyr stood on the balcony, his back to Geralt, clothed only in his silk dressing gown. He didn’t turn when Geralt entered the room but his heart began to beat a little faster. Geralt stalked slowly over to him, drawing out the moment, enjoying the shiver of anticipation that slipped down his spine.

Reaching his lover, he wrapped his arms around Emhyr’s waist, pressed his front to Emhyr’s back and hooked his chin over Emhyr’s shoulder. Nilfgaard was laid out before them, the city sprawling away from the northern banks of the Alba. Many windows were lit, small dots in the darkness, signifying the lives of thousands of people. “Fancy seeing you here,” he whispered. 

“Hmm, indeed it’s quite the coincidence,” Emhyr snorted, pushing his arse back into Geralt’s crotch. 

Geralt turned Emhyr and kissed him fiercely. One of Emhyr’s hands sank into his hair, removing the hair tie. With his own hands, Geralt tugged on the loosely tied belt holding Emhyr’s dressing gown closed. 

“Gauntlet’s on or off?” Geralt whispered against Emhyr’s lips. 

“Don’t ask foolish questions,” Emhyr grumbled, kissing Geralt and slipping his tongue into Geralt’s mouth. 

Without removing his gauntlets, Geralt let his hands slip beneath the dressing gown. Emhyr was completely naked underneath. Ever so lightly, Geralt caressed up and down Emhyr’s sides and back, moving further down to grope at his bum. Under his attention Emhyr sighed and shuddered, rocking forward to grind his erection against Geralt’s hip. 

The scent of Emhyr, surrounding him, filling him, the feel of him through the gauntlets, the way he responded so sweetly to Geralt’s touches...it was more than exciting. When Emhyr’s hand trailed down the front of the gambeson, short nails catching in the engraving, to cup the front of Geralt’s trousers, his cock was achingly hard. 

Geralt rutted against Emhyr’s palm, and panted, “I’m yours now, and everyone knows it.”

Emhyr moaned at the words, wanton and desperate, as close to begging as he ever came. Geralt kissed down his neck, sucking at his collarbones, enjoying the taste of Emhyr’s warm skin. 

Without warning, Emhyr turned back around, pressing himself back into Geralt and letting his head fall against Geralt’s shoulder. “Take me,” he gasped, breath fanning over the underside of Geralt’s jaw, “right here, in front of my city. For I am yours, just as you are mine.”

A strangled cry fell from Geralt’s lips as he rucked up Emhyr’s dressing gown, revealing him. “Oil?” he requested, massaging the soft globes of his bum. 

“No need,” Emhyr panted. “You were taking so long, I took the liberty to prepare myself.”

Geralt let his fingers slip down between Emhyr’s cheeks, arousal twisting his belly as his fingers met the base of Emhyr’s glass plug. “I’ll still need some oil,” he reasoned, even in the most lustful of hazes, hurting Emhyr was the last thing he wanted to do. 

From his dressing gown pocket, Emhyr produced a vial of unscented oil, pressing it into Geralt’s free hand. “Thank you,” Geralt murmured, dropping a kiss to the back of Emhyr’s neck. 

With one smooth movement, Geralt pulled the plug free, giving it to Emhyr to hold. “Keep it clean,” he requested, letting his fingers tease at Emhyr’s hole, his cock twitching at the way it fluttered.

Uncorking the oil, Geralt poured some onto his gauntlet covered fingers and pressed them back to Emhyr’s entrance. With impossible care, Geralt slipped a finger inside. He could feel Emhyr clenching around the leather, the scent of his leaking cock joining the arousal in the air, Geralt could hear drops of precum hitting the balcony floor. 

A second joined the first with ease. At the crook of Geralt’s fingers, Emhyr moaned, falling back against Geralt. Wrapping a supporting arm around Emhyr’s front, Geralt did it again, smirking as the fingers of Emhyr’s empty hand clutched at the armour. 

After scissoring his fingers a few times to make sure Emhyr was truly ready, Geralt fumbled with the laces of his trousers, freeing himself. Coating his cock with the last of the oil, he threw the vial behind him, and nudged at Emhyr’s feet to widen his stance. Happy, Geralt lined himself up and pushed into Emhyr in one smooth glide. 

Pressing his face into the back of Emhyr’s neck, Geralt panted, eyes closed. Emhyr was so hot around him, clenching rhymically as he became used to having a cock inside of him and driving Geralt wild in the process. 

“Move,” Emhyr grunted, bracing his hands on the balustrade, carefully holding the plug so it didn’t touch the stone. 

Not needing further encouragement, Geralt did as bid, letting his cock slip almost all the way out of Emhyr before slowly sinking back inside, making him feel every centimetre of Geralt’s length. The rhythm was slow but brutal. Emhyr writhed against him, a litany of Nilfgaardian swear words falling from his lips. 

“Faster!” Emhyr demanded, pushing himself back on Geralt’s cock to try and quicken the pace. Geralt could practically smell his desperation. He considered teasing Emhyr, keeping the pace slow until he fell apart in his arms but Geralt didn’t think he’d be able to keep such a rhythm going. Emhyr’s frenzy bleeding over and affecting Geralt. So, plastering himself to Emhyr’s back and wrapping his arms securely around Emhyr’s middle, Geralt snapped his hips forward, each quick thrust pushing a grunt from Emhyr. 

A hand grasped Geralt’s chin, turned his head. Geralt met Emhyr’s clumsy kisses with equal abandon. Reaching through the folds of the dressing gown, Geralt found Emhyr’s cock and began to stroke firmly, dragging his thumb over the head with each pass. The touch of the leather drove Emhyr wild, Geralt had never known him to be so incensed during their love making. 

“I won’t last,” Emhyr cried out. 

“Then don’t,” Geralt grunted, never ceasing his relentless pace.

A few moments later Emhyr’s whole body tensed, Geralt’s name falling from his lips like a prayer as he spilled all over the gauntlet. Geralt stilled immediately, Emhyr was always incredibly sensitive after immediately orgasm. He sagged back against Geralt, boneless with contentment. With some difficulty Geralt ignored his aching cock, still nestled inside Emhyr and simply held his lover close, pressing soft kisses to his shoulder. 

At Emhyr’s satisfied sigh, Geralt asked, “Enjoy that?” 

“Immensely.”

“I’ll have to request this armour on special occasions,” Geralt chuckled. “Yule, your birthday.”

“A glorious idea,” Emhyr laughed.

“Would you like the plug?” 

Emhyr was quiet for a moment before nodding his ascent and handing the glass toy back to Geralt. Geralt pulled out and allowed some of the oil to leak from Emhyr, using it to coat the plug. Pressing it gently to Emhyr’s rim, he waited, allowing Emhyr a few moments to change his mind before slowly pushing it back into Emhyr’s body. As soon as it slipped into place, Emhyr let out of a shaky breath. Geralt let his hands roam the curve of Emhyr’s naked arse one last time before letting his dressing gown fall back into place. 

“As you went to your knees before me,” Emhyr murmured, turning to Geralt, a lewd gleam in his eyes, “now I shall go to my knees before you.”

Geralt’s breath hitched as Emhyr did just that, his cock twitching as he sank down. The palace grounds and city stretched out below them, as far as the eye could see, filled with Emhyr’s subjects, and none of them would ever know what it was like to see Emhyr on his knees. It was incredible to Geralt that even he got to see him in such a position, for _his_ pleasure no less. 

The wet warmth of Emhyr’s mouth on his cock punched a moan from Geralt. Emhyr stared up at Geralt, suckling on the head. Even if he wanted too, Geralt could not look away from the sight before him. He loved Emhyr’s eyes, not only the colour, although that was beautiful, but because even when Emhyr had on his greatest of masks, Geralt could take one look into his eyes and know exactly what he was feeling. It had taken a while to cut through the wall of thorny brambles that protected Emhyr’s mind and heart. Even though Emhyr had been the one to instigate their romance, he had still been wary, but it had been absolutely worth the effort.

Emhyr never fully took Geralt into his mouth, not enjoying how vulnerable it made him feel. Instead he gripped the base of Geralt’s cock, stroking and squeezing in time with his mouth. With the other he massaged Geralt’s balls. Together it created a cornucopia of pleasure within Geralt, leaving him unable to even speak, only gasp and whimper, knee’s shaking. 

Needing the support, Geralt carded the fingers of one hand through Emhyr’s hair. He didn’t tug, Emhyr didn’t like that, instead he rested his palm against the side of his head, still utterly enraptured by Emhyr’s eyes. With the other his cupped Emhyr’s jaw, thumb to the corner of his lips, letting Geralt feel his cock in Emhyr’s mouth, the way Emhyr’s mouth stretched around it, warm and willing. 

Geralt peaked with a cry, spilling onto Emhyr’s tongue, panting wildly as pleasure crested through him in unstoppable waves. As always, Emhyr swallowed everything Geralt gave him. 

One orgasm was not enough to make Geralt soft. When Emhyr released Geralt’s erection he tucked the still hard length back into his smalls with a sigh, patting Geralt’s leg before standing. Wiping the corners of his mouth, Emhyr smirked, “My absolute favourite vintage.”

It pushed a breathless laugh from Geralt. Emhyr winked at him, took his hand and led him back inside. 

“I spent most of the ceremony daydreaming about this,” Emhyr told him, standing Geralt in the middle of their bedroom and eyeing him critically. “You really do suit the Sun.”

“Of course you think that,” Geralt snorted. 

“Do you not agree?”

“I’m supposed to be neutral.”

Emhyr did not deign that statement with a verbal response, the withering glare was far more effective than words would have been anyway. 

“I suppose that ship has sailed,” Geralt laughed, pressing a kiss to Emhyr’s cheek. Emhyr grumbled but still turned his head to meet Geralt’s lips for the next one. 

As they kissed Emhyr worked Geralt’s belt, unfastening it and pulling it free. It dropped to the floor with a satisfying clatter. His bandolier followed shortly after. With one final, soft kiss, Emhyr stepped back and removed one of Geralt’s gauntlets, adding it to the pile. Holding Geralt’s gaze, Emhyr gripped Geralt’s wrist and raised it to his lips, first pressing a kiss to the thin skin of the inside before kissing each of his fingertips. Geralt’s breath hitched in the face of such tenderness, something all encompassing growing in his chest as Emhyr repeated the ministrations on his other hand. 

Moving behind Geralt, Emhyr wrapped his arms around his middle and pressed himself to Geralt’s back. The hug was warm and comforting. Geralt leaned back into it, letting his eyes fall closed. After pressing a kiss to the side of Geralt’s neck, Emhyr began to unlace the leather gambeson he loved so much. 

The _feeling_ pressed at the backs of Geralt's eyes, and he tried to blink it away. A man known for his abject tyranny was the greatest lover, best companion, Geralt had ever known. He’d never felt so cared for, so valued by another. It was not the first time such a moment had overwhelmed him and when Emhyr came back around to his front, taking in his watering eyes, he merely smiled, small and adoring. 

Heart aching, Geralt couldn’t stop a tear from slipping free. “Oh, my darling,” Emhyr whispered, wiping it away with a gentle brush of his thumb. “We can stop if you wish?”

Geralt tried to speak but words would not come. He cleared his throat, the sound loud in the quiet of their room before being able to answer, “No, I’ll be fine.” Pausing for a beat he tacked on a helpless, “I love you.”

“And I, you,” Emhyr murmured, wiping away another tear. Going up onto his toes he cupped Geralt’s cheeks and pressed a kiss to his forehead before freeing him from the gambeson, dropping it atop the gauntlets.

Geralt’s shirt soon followed and then Emhyr went to his knees _again_ , unbuckling Geralt’s greaves with deft fingers. The laces of his boots proved equally as easy. As Emhyr lifted Geralt’s leg, hand cupping his calve with one hand, removing the boot with the other, Geralt’s cock twitched. His other boot removed in the same fashion, Emhyr divested Geralt of his trousers in short order. The wet spot on the front of his smalls earned Geralt a smirk and a raised eyebrow before they were pulled down. 

Tasks complete, Emhyr stood and took Geralt by the hands. He let himself be led over to the bed, Emhyr walking backwards, never taking his eyes off of Geralt. Emhyr pushed him onto the mattress before undressing himself with one smooth shrug of his shoulders, the dressing gown falling to the floor with a whisper. Naked, Emhyr followed him onto the bed, only pausing to collect another vial of oil from the bedside table. 

“What would you like?” Emhyr asked, tucking himself under one of Geralt’s arms and tangling their legs together. 

Geralt thought about it for a moment, considered what he could take versus how overwhelmed he still felt. “Just your hand, please.”

With a hum, Emhyr pressed a kiss to Geralt’s chest, over his heart and poured some of the oil onto his hand, letting it warm. Fingers delicately wrapped around Geralt’s cock, Emhyr’s thumb playing over the head. He barely moved his hand, just rubbed ever so lightly. It was barely anything, yet simultaneously so much. 

Geralt’s chest rose faster and faster, his heart beating hard underneath Emhyr’s ear. Emhyr teased his slit, his frenulum and Geralt let his eyes fall closed against the pleasure, still a little teary. 

“I carry your heart with me,” Emhyr murmured, pressing another kiss to Geralt’s chest. “I carry it in my heart. I am never without it, anywhere I go you go, my dear.” 

The words of the poem washed over Geralt, Emhyr’s voice rich and appealing, raising goosebumps on Geralt’s arms, a blush to his cheeks. Emhyr did not recite to him often, so when he did it made Geralt feel incredibly special. By the time Emhyr had finished the second verse, Geralt’s breathing was ragged and he’d started pushing up into Emhyr’s hand. 

“Here is the deepest secret nobody knows.” 

The pleasure continued to build within him. A quiet sob wracked Geralt’s chest, a small thing that fit within the confines of the quiet, intimate space that Emhyr had created for them. He turned his face into Emhyr’s hair, clutching at his back and upper arm. 

A few more gentle touches after Emhyr murmured the last line, Geralt peaked. He shuddered through it, a few more tears leaking free as he gasped and spilled over Emhyr’s fingers. 

“Good boy,” Emhyr whispered, kissing his jawline, rubbing the seed into his lower abdomen. 

It took a few minutes, Emhyr petting him the entire time, but eventually Geralt came back to himself, a smile tugging at his lips. He pulled his head from Emhyr’s hair and shifted so he could look his lover in the eye and murmur, “That was nice, thank you.” 

“Good.” Emhyr’s hand was gentle and warm on his cheek, clean, although Geralt had no recollection of him cleaning it. “I’m going to have you again now.” 

“Well if you _have_ too,” Geralt smirked, splaying his legs a little wider, cock still hard. 

“Oh, I do,” Emhyr grinned, pushing himself up and straddling Geralt’s thighs in one smooth motion. 

The vial of oil made another appearance, although Geralt had no idea where Emhyr had found it. After applying a liberal amount to Geralt’s cock, Emhyr shuffled forward. Geralt watched as Emhyr reached behind himself and removed the plug, discarding it at the end of the bed. Gripping the base of Geralt’s cock, Emhyr sank down onto it, sighing happily when he was fully seated. 

Below him, Geralt revelled in the warm, wet tightness that engulfed him, enjoying the knowledge that his seed was already inside of Emhyr, easing his way for their third round of love making. He pressed his palms into Emhyr’s thighs, the hair coarse against his skin. Nilfgaardian men usually shaved everything from the nose down, but not Emhyr. For just as Geralt sometimes removed himself of body hair for Emhyr’s enjoyment, Emhyr grew his for Geralt. It was as dark as his hair, with some greys peppered in it, Geralt loved it and what it represented. 

Emhyr rocked his hips, heading tilted back, eyes closed, fingers digging into Geralt’s stomach. He was nothing short of beautiful. 

The tempo of their love making was faster then when Emhyr used only his hand but still far slower then their frantic coupling on the balcony. There was something thoughtful about it. Although Emhyr was clearly enjoying himself, he did not grow hard and would not so close to his last orgasm. When they’d first began the sexual side of their relationship, Geralt had worried Emhyr only permitted him inside out of a sense of duty, especially since penetration was not enjoyable after orgasm. It had taken many reassurances but eventually Geralt accepted that after the immediate overstimulation of orgasm had passed, Emhyr still enjoyed having Geralt inside of him, whether he could peak or not. Geralt still couldn’t fully describe the way it made him feel, but he was pretty sure happy and loved came somewhere close. 

“What’re your plans for tomorrow?” Emhyr asked, hips never stilling. 

“Erm, taking Seventh Commando through the drills Morvran and I developed to combat ghouls and drowners. You?”

“I’m presiding over a meeting in parliament.”

“Enjoy that,” Geralt snorted, gripping Emhyr’s waist, planting his feet flat on the bed and pushing up slightly, driving himself a little deeper. 

“Want to - _oh_ , that feels good - swap?”

“I think they’d notice if I turned up instead of their Emperor.”

“Maybe,” Emhyr hummed. 

“Is there anything interesting on the agenda at least?” 

“Debating whether we’re going to dig sewers in Vizima or Vengerburg first, how we’re going to convince the northern farmers to grow the blight resistance potatoes we developed decades ago and deciding who’s going to Chair the Yule Celebration Committee.”

“Real riveting stuff then.”

“I’ll do what I always do whenever a meeting is frightfully boring.”

“Which is?”

“Imagine I’m doing this with you,” Emhyr smirked, rolling his hips with more urgency. “It gets me through the day.”

“And then you get to come home and live out all of those fantasies,” Geralt teased, skimming his fingers up Emhyr’s sides to pinch at his nipples. 

“Every night.”

They lapsed into silence, only the sounds of their breathing and the noises of their pleasure filling the air. It felt wonderful. The ease with which they fit together had taken time and hard work to achieve but it had been worth it. Geralt could feel his pleasure steadily building, growing in the pit of his belly and the tops of his thighs. 

“I don’t always fantasise about us making love,” Emhyr murmured, leaning forward to press their chests together, grinding himself down onto Geralt. He kissed Geralt then, soft and sweet. “Sometimes I fantasise,” he continued, kissing Geralt between each word, “about playing Gwent, or sparring with you, or what it feels like when you brush my hair. Sometimes I just imagine we’re talking.”

“What do we talk about?” 

“You recount stories of past contracts, we discuss the merits of various works of literature, I complain about what’s happening in the meeting and you agree with all of my complaints. You sometimes wax poetic about all that you see meritorious in me and ardently profess your love.” 

“Sounds nice,” Geralt said, kissing Emhyr’s cheek and starting to thrust up into him, gripping his arse. 

“Oh, it is,” Emhyr laughed, “especially when you recite poetry to me in high Nilfgaardian.”

“I co- _ah_ , I could learn some? Put it next to the armour on the list of things we do for special occasions.”

“Surprise me.”

“Hmm, alright.”

“You’re getting close, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah,” Geralt grunted, increasing his pace. Emhyr met each of his thrusts, the sound of slapping skin filling the air. Geralt kissed Emhyr, a hint of desperation creeping into his movements. Eyebrows tugging down into a frown, Geralt gasped against his lips, “You always feel so good.” 

“As do you, my darling,” Emhyr sighed, kissing across the plain of Geralt’s cheekbone to his ear. He ran his tongue around the shell before taking Geralt’s lobe into his mouth, sucking and nibbling. The attention sent a thrill through Geralt, pleasure sparking under his scalp and down his neck. His ears had always been one of the more sensitive parts of his body, something that Emhyr took full advantage of. 

A few more frantic thrusts and Geralt pulled Emhyr down as he pushed himself as deep as possible, cock twitching as he once again filled Emhyr with his seed. 

Wrapping his arms around Emhyr’s waist, Geralt groaned in contentment, pressing his nose into Emhyr’s shoulder, relishing everything about the moment. The way their scents combined together, and with those blowing in through the open balcony doors. The sheer, bone deep feeling of satisfaction at having orgasmed three times. The gentle words of praise Emhyr was still crooning to him. It all combined to make Geralt feel completely serene and fulfilled, heart brimming with all of the myriad of good things Emhyr made him feel. Geralt rubbed his hands over the broad expanse of Emhyr’s back and enjoyed the moment.

With some amusement, Geralt noticed that Emhyr had slipped into a doze, head tucked into Geralt’s neck. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” Geralt said, shaking Emhyr gently, “your knees will hurt in the morning if you stay like that all night.”

“‘S comfy,” Emhyr groaned, voice muffled. 

“You won’t be saying that tomorrow when you can barely walk.”

Emhyr grumbled a little more before dragging himself off Geralt's chest to lay beside him on his front, knees cracking audibly as Emhyr stretched them. “Don’t say anything.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Geralt returned, pushing himself up onto an elbow and leaning over to press a kiss to Emhyr’s shoulder blade. 

Geralt climbed out of bed, and crossed the room to the wash basin that sat in the corner. After heating the water with a quick igni, Geralt cleaned himself off and took a damp flannel over to Emhyr. 

Warning him first with a brief touch to the base of his spine, Geralt cleaned Emhyr up with thorough but soft touches. 

“Thank you,” Emhyr mumbled, clearly fighting sleep. 

“Anytime.” 

Once he was finished, Geralt patted Emhyr’s arse a few times and returned to the basin to deposit the wash cloth. 

“Doors open or closed?” Geralt asked as he reached the balcony. 

“Open,” Emhyr called. The days in Nilfgaard were sometimes unbearably warm but the nights were cold. Leaving the doors open meant they could hold each other under the covers, cosy despite it being the middle of summer. 

Geralt turned away and made for the bed, extinguishing candles as he went. In a half asleep attempt to get under the duvet, Emhyr had somehow managed to get one leg and the lower half of an arm covered but that was all. Snorting a laugh, the moonlight streaming in through the balcony as his guide, Geralt got him the rest of the way under before slipping into bed himself. 

A searching hand found his stomach and Emhyr wriggled over to Geralt, pushing at Geralt’s shoulder with his other hand. Knowing what Emhyr wanted, Geralt turned onto his side, smiling into the darkness when Emhyr pressed himself against Geralt’s back. One of Emhyr’s arms held Geralt securely around the middle, the other he slid underneath Geralt's head until his neck rested upon Emhyr’s bicep. Emhyr was certainly tired enough that they may even fall asleep holding each other, rather than cuddling for however long either of them could stand before rolling away from one another. 

Soft lips pressed to the back of his neck. A goodnight kiss since they’d settled facing the same way. Lifting the arm Emhyr had wrapped around him, Geralt kissed his knuckles and put it back where Emhyr had originally placed it, entwining their fingers so Geralt’s one arm could cover Emhyr’s. 

Emhyr did fall asleep quickly, the slow rise and fall of his chest a comforting rhythm against Geralt’s back. Through the open balcony doors, Geralt could still hear the party below, quieter than before because the wind had changed direction. It didn’t bother him, if anything he found the reminder weirdly satisfying. Rather than being in the midst of the hubbub, bored and hungry, ears hurting, he was far enough away to just about hear it, in the arms of the man he loved and who loved him in return. A man who, Geralt felt he could say with some certainty, he was allowed to see parts of that most others didn’t even know existed. Between the two, the choice was so easy it was no choice at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope it was enjoyable and fun to read as it was to write! <3
> 
> The poem Emhyr recites, which is also where the title comes from, is [i carry your heart with me by e.e. cummings](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/49493/i-carry-your-heart-with-mei-carry-it-in)
> 
> [My Tumblr!](https://lutes-and-dandelions.tumblr.com/)


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